


Dragon at the Bar

by enblackink



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dialect, Drama, Falling In Love, Fantasy, M/M, Matchmaking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Flight, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash, Original Universe, Romance, Shapeshifting, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enblackink/pseuds/enblackink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of running from a past he'd rather not remember a young Dragonet has no care for mating seasons or mates, but a chance meeting at a bar may change all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> © e.N. Black. All rights reserved.
> 
> \+ Speech pattern for this world can be a bit tricky, but here's hoping there's enough context clues imbedded to make it discernible.
> 
> \+ Thank you TJ for the Beta.

Chavez sat hunched over the table in an attempt to make himself smaller and blatantly unapproachable. The glare he leveled at his two companions didn’t seem to phase them. Mollette DragonHill merely smiled in that patronizing way she did when she felt justified in interfering in someone else’s life, and Teyum, social creature that he was, merely seemed to be enjoying the atmosphere. Getting the table had been a stroke of luck in Chavez’s otherwise Gaffe-bitten day. First he’d overslept, which was a rare occurrence at best. Late to his job, he’d discovered that his boss, the Marquis of Amejade himself, had conducted a surprise inspection on the fields Chavez maintained. Ordinarily this would have been a highlight in his week; Chavez took great pride in his work and his fields reflected that. However, last night an unexpected frost had set in and damaged some of Chavez’s crops. Chavez spent the day salvaging what he could, replanting what he could not and fortifying what was left of the crops against another freak change in weather.

After a hard day’s work all Chavez wanted to do was sit at his kitchen table and finish a set of glass-bead jewelry he’d been working on in hopes that he could open a stall at the souk morn after and sell his wares. But Gaffe, the Perfect One of Imperfection, had not quite finished ruining Chavez’s day for Molly and Teyum barged in to his home and demanded he come out with them. Chavez hated places like The Laughing Lizard Bar and Grill. It was crowded and loud especially on the last night of the work week, though Nomads and Dragon-folk flocked to the bar on any given night regardless. Sometimes it was merely to have a few drinks with friends and co-workers, and then sometimes when a Dragon’s season was approaching it was the perfect place to find a mate. Chavez had very little interest in people or mates which made him resent this excursion ever more.

“Oh, there he goes,” Mollette cooed in a voice guaranteed to drag Chavez’s attention from the carvings in the table top to her awestruck face. “He fancy, yeah?” Mollette continued as she discreetly pointed a finger to what had caught her eye.

“Um- _hmm_ ,” Teyum hummed in quick agreement, but then glared suspiciously at his mate for the season with eyes narrowed and nose twitching. “Mollette!” She had the decency to at least duck her head in sheepish acknowledgment, though her delight was still present on her smiling mouth. Teyum slouched back in his chair, arms crossed and lip out in a blatant pout. For a second Chavez thought the night was over with the onset of Teyum’s bad mood, but then he shot forward suddenly, hands splayed on the table. Whatever epiphany he’d just had was obviously enough to pacify him because he continued in a gloating voice, “Boot Molly, you dinna stand a chance.” Teyum cast a sly glance towards Chavez. “Word has it, he prefers Wing Scale Dragonets.”

“ _He does_?” Chavez and Mollette asked simultaneously, varying degrees of incredulity present on their faces. Chavez’s shock half stemmed from the idea that anyone would purposely choose a Dragonet, while the other half bloomed from the thought of Teyum proud of something that had nothing to do with him.

“So,” Teyum answered lightly before gently tapping Chavez’s fingertips. “Ahoy, g’won chatter at him, yeah?” he proposed, inclining his head toward the subject of their discussion.

Chavez followed the gesture to see Ocean DragonSlayer sitting at the bar being harassed by two posturing Dragon-blooded Nomads. They were definitely not Wing Scale throwbacks like himself, but were infinitely better looking. Chavez shook his head, hedging, “Na. I-I dinna think that’s a good idea.”

Teyum DragonSoil’s eyes were stern as they met Chavez’s. The Dragonet had little doubt that he was about to be scolded for his cowardice. But it wasn’t Chavez’s choice that he’d gotten faulty genes. His parents should have checked their lineage before making an egg, should have known that the Wing Scale bloodline was strong in both their families. Wing Scale was a dead Nomad colony, its descendants scattered and obsolete in the Realms. Yet, Wing Scale still stubbornly persisted in manifesting in the gene pool and producing ‘incomplete’ Dragons. Malformed as they were, Dragonets couldn’t hope to match a Dragon in strength or size. More often than not, suffering through a mating flight was the equivalent of an act of faith demanded by Those Ones; many season nights upon feeling the first pangs of induced desire, had Chavez praying that his partner wouldn’t forget that Chavez’s body wouldn’t hold up if he or she were accidentally too enthusiastic in sating it.

“Chavez,” Teyum growled, “ _Go_. I’ve heard that Ocean’s last mate grounded him so he’s on the fly. I know you havena had the best of times gone, but I also havena ever heard of the Dragonslayer mistreating a mate no matter how vigorous the flight, and _you_ need someone who willna kill you when your season starts.”

Chavez frowned down at his hands resting on the table as he thought. Teyum had managed to be Chavez’s partner the last season he’d had one. They’d lived together then for Chavez’s protection, but Teyum and Mollette had quarreled and she’d flown off in a huff — she’d forgotten Teyum was due. By the time Mollette had remembered and returned to their underground cavern, a flight delirious Teyum had already bent Chavez over the dining table, balls deep inside him, struggling to maintain Nomad form because Chavez’s Dragonet self would do neither of them any good. It had made for an awkward season. It was easy for Teyum to send Chavez out for a lover because he didn’t have to worry about being ripped apart, literally fucked to death.

The Dragonet looked up to see Teyum nudging Mollette with an elbow, head briefly jerking in Chavez’s direction, mouthing ‘Molly, please.’

Mollette’s eyes met Chavez’s, hapless expression on her face. At least she was decently reluctant, Chavez thought. “Lookit,” she said, “iffin Ocean DragonSlayer were in to me, me wouldna be given to lamentation like y’are, for damn sure.” Chavez opened his mouth to protest his state of being but Mollette splayed her large hands on top of Chavez’s and shook her head. “Cousin, me wouldna let anythin’ happen to ya. And iffin it did me wouldna let you go unavenged. Even to Lancette. Even to the Dragonslayer. Even at me own life. But y’canna keep hiding every time y’season comes.”

The Dragonet had no want to think about Lancette. Chavez no longer lived with Mollette and Teyum either, had decided it was best not to be around the next time the pair went through another on-again-off-again square. While Teyum hadn’t hurt him as the Dragonet was accustomed to, it had still been weird when Chavez had come down from the flight high — hormones still reacting to the ones Teyum had broadcast, a feeling like electricity jumping around his body as a fire blazed constantly underneath the surface — to find Teyum splayed across him, their bellies adhered together with Chavez’s come, Teyum’s easy breaths fanning his ear, Chavez’s ass stubbornly clinging to Teyum’s partial erection instead of letting it slip from his body (stupid dragon mating dynamics at work there). It had quickly gone from _weird_ to _embarrassing_ when he'd seen Mollette emerging from her and Teyum’s room, dressed in a robe, whitecap-and-chocolate hair wet from a shower. It had been Mollette, Chavez’s cousin, Teyum’s semi-permanent mate, to tell him that he and Teyum had rutted over damn near every square inch of the kitchen. It had been Mollette, her smile tight but resigned and forgiving, to tell him that four days had passed since Mollette and Teyum’s argument. Chavez had gazed up at the cavern’s ceiling toward the end of Mollette’s recount of the past few days, begging whatever Perfect One willing to bend an ear his way to let the hormones fade, give him back control of his body. Or perhaps to go back in time just for the last few minutes and have Teyum wake first and deal with Mollette leaving Chavez blissfully unaware.

Before that disastrous season Chavez had lived on his own, carving out a series of caverns under the earth and walling it off so that no one would bother him, flight or not. This system had worked until a Dragon had been desperate enough to dig his way into Chavez’s underground shelter, had indeed scented Chavez even through layers of dirt and sediment. Chavez would have been impressed by that if he’d wanted to be molested and not resolved to suffer through flights curled up and crying on his bed alone. Chavez could have been impressed by that if it hadn’t ended with his season partner breaking his pelvis and fracturing his arm in two places. It had been a season of profuse apologies, a season in which Chavez had learned how to solidify his home so that a breach like that never happened again. But now Teyum and Mollette were saying that he should invite it, risk his life just to test out a potential mate. That didn’t make any sense to the young Dragonet.

He stared at Mollette and Teyum ready to protest again, but upon seeing their stony expressions he knew that he wouldn’t be heard. Easiest to just cross the room to the bar, meet with Ocean DragonSlayer, and be irrefutably turned down. They wouldn’t be able to say Chavez hadn’t tried then. So he stood and gave an unconscious pat to his curly whitecap-and-golden hair, and then smoothed down the shimmering purple and fuschia of his shirt. It had been made from Teyum’s shed Dragonskin and given as a gift on Chavez’s last hatchday, special only because all of Chavez’s other clothing was made from Mollette’s white-and-lavender-tinged scale-shed — Dragonets didn’t shed as often nor produce enough sloughed off skin to form more than a loin-cloth most of the time. Teyum’s scales matched well with Chavez’s coloring they’d told him, and Mollette had made him wear the shirt tonight when they’d dragged him out of his burrow and demanded he be social. He turned one last questioning glance to the duo; he wasn’t too proud to beg, but they merely offered contradictory resolute grimaces and encouraging smiles. Chavez aimed himself toward the bar sourly, took a deep breath and crossed the room.

He had no idea how to get Ocean’s attention, Chavez realized. He was unused to seeking attention; attention wasn’t something he wanted, nor was it something he’d need if not for an unnecessary, irrational, biological imperative. Fortunately, it was true what Mollette had said about Ocean DragonSlayer’s fanciness. Ocean’s skin was the color of sand on the sea floor. From his profile, on his cheekbones and around his eyes Chavez could see soft blue scales with bright green and gold latticework shining upon it like an intricate overlay of dragonfly wings. Ocean’s blond-with-blue-and-green streaked hair was tamed into a high ponytail that had scores of little braids running down his back, the beaded ends gently clacking together with every move of his head like waves breaking on the shore. The closer Chavez got, the more he could discern that the green in Ocean’s hair wasn’t hair, but seaweed growing with it — which was odd considering that he had a Whispering Sea Nomad form. The blousy shirt he wore was cotton, but the vest and pants were obviously his shed Dragonskin.

Ocean DragonSlayer looked bored with his two suitors, and maybe it was the heartfelt sigh he released as he rolled his eyes upwards when the two broke into another of what had been a series of fights to impress him that gave Chavez the courage to take the remaining steps separating them, reach over, and tap him on the shoulder. When Ocean turned, mouth opened — to likely tell Chavez to wing off if his expression was any indication — nothing came out but a breathy, “Huh.” Big blue shark-eyes flowed down Chavez’s body and back to his face, a smile tugging at the corner of Ocean’s lips.

Chavez had no idea what Ocean saw that was appealing. Mollette had once said Chavez was much fancier than most people she knew, but she was Chavez’s cousin and biased. Teyum had agreed, but he was Mollette’s mate and obligated. What Chavez did know was that Ocean was seeing a lot of gold: whitecap-and-gold hair, golden skin, eyes more gold than brown — Chavez was color monotony at it’s finest. That didn’t stop the Dragonslayer from interrupting his two bickering admirers and quietly stating that his legs felt cramped. When both of them jumped up in an effort to please, Chavez’s questionable looks didn’t stop Ocean from confiscating one of the barstools and offering Chavez the seat beside him. Ocean didn’t seem to notice the curling of a lip in a soundless snarl from one rejected suitor, or the audible growl from the other, but Chavez did — and it terrified him.

Ocean DragonSlayer probably didn’t want any more from Chavez than a relief from the two Dragons. The Dragonet couldn’t really blame him for that; Chavez would have wanted a solid, irrefutable excuse also. He could have wished that Ocean hadn’t decided to paint that scapegoat target on his golden back, however. There was no way Chavez would be able to defend himself when Ocean dismissed him as he had his predecessors, or left him at the bar in favor of more attractive tail. Fear of retribution had him trembling as he forced himself to sit. Molly could probably take them, Chavez thought, biting his bottom lip. It would serve her right, too, if she got beat up along with Chavez for instigating this whole mess that could have been avoided. Resolved, Chavez forced his shivering to stop and turned to offer a tremulous smile to Ocean.

Ocean smiled back and asked, “How’re you called?” His voice was a whisper of sound, like water blowing in the breeze far from the coast.

For a moment Chavez was lost. One could not stare into depthless eyes, or hear that hypnotic voice emerging from Ocean’s plump lips and not be. With a start, Chavez shook his head and dropped his eyes to the bar where it was safer. “Chavez DragonetHill,” he mumbled, wondering if Ocean could hear him, but not willing to speak louder while he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Chavez?” Ocean queried, the surprise in his raspy voice enough reason for the Dragonet to put his eyes on Ocean again, focusing on the scale-work instead of the mouth or the eyes. He caught the gesture Ocean made with his hand toward Chavez’s tell-tale hair, where everything above the tips of his ears grew white, and everything below grew gold. That was a very distinctive trait of the Mountain Snow Colony, hair that mimicked snow-capped mountains, and names that ended in a visual approximation of mountain peaks amongst the hills. ‘Chavez’ was clearly _not_ a Mountain Snow name.

“Well,” he amended, “Chavette, but none call me that.”

Ocean inclined his head in acknowledgement, huge blue eyes taking the time to appraise Chavez’s figure once more. “Then, Chavez, I dinna want to seem too forward, but can we sip The Drink while we chat?”

Chavez sucked in a quick breath and fought panic. He shot a look at the table sat by his cousin and her mate. Teyum had his fingers twisting in the sleeve fabric of Mollette’s shirt in his excitement, eyes shining as he watched Chavez floundering. Mollette’s fists were clenched on the tabletop as she chewed her bottom lip — an expression Chavez knew meant she was deliriously hopeful and trying to contain it. He would get no help from that quarter, and he couldn’t go back to them now and say he was beneath Ocean DragonSlayer’s notice when the guy had blatantly shooed away two other perfectly good pieces of tail to pull out a chair for him. Some instinct drew his eye to the wall a few feet behind his family. There stood Ocean’s rejects, mutually glaring at him, obviously friends now that they had a common enemy. As much as Mollette had earned a beating for sending Chavez over here, he couldn’t ask her to take on those two. Chavez exhaled slowly. He really wasn’t getting out of this now.

“The Drink. Y’be sure?” he asked Ocean, proud that his voice didn’t tremble. He couldn’t remember if he had ever consciously consented to sex and if he drank that drink, _The Drink_ — equal parts alcohol, juice, and egg contraceptive — then he was definitely consenting to fuck Ocean DragonSlayer tonight.

He was gazing at that spot on Ocean’s cheek again when he saw it tilt upward as Ocean replied, “’M’sure.”

There was an argument there, Chavez was certain. Something like, ‘What if the chat doesna go well?’ ‘What if we arna suited?’ crossed his mind, but a quick glance at the wall shoved the thought out his ears. It didn’t really matter at this point, did it?

Chavez met Ocean’s eyes, his smile bright. “Then let’s drink,” he said with confidence he didn’t really feel.

♣


	2. Two

Chavez DragonetHill lived just outside the city limits of Amejade, Gisane. He’d chosen to live so far south because it was colder than any other place on Onarch, which meant the soil was a little tougher, a little less thawed, and little easier to fortify against invaders. Chavez’s current place was a homey hole in the ground. Stairs he’d painstakingly formed in the obdurate dirt led down to four connecting caverns: a kitchen, a sitting area, a bedroom, and a small circuit. He’d decorated with glass mobiles from Soaking Sun hanging from the ceiling, and colorful rugs and tapestries from Rainbow Streams on the floor and walls. Mollette had said he had good taste. Teyum’s Nomad form happened to be Internal Land Colony, so he’d turned his nose up in typical Internal Land disparagement of flashy items of comfort. As those two had been the only ones in this dwelling, Chavez had no idea what was currently in fashion, or what someone like the Dragonslayer would find appealing.

“D’ya stay hereabots?” Chavez asked as they approached the entrance to his burrow.

“At the time,” Ocean answered. He walked silently as Chavez’s side, hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve a tree a mile or so down the way from here.”

“Tree?” Chavez repeated, sure that he looked as puzzled as he felt. Everything about Ocean oozed Whispering Sea Colony — except for maybe . . .

Ocean tucked an escaped strand of seaweed behind his ear. “Me ma was Fruitful Tree,” he imparted.

That explained that, then, Chavez silently acknowledged. Foliage of some kind growing with the hair was unconditionally of that Colony. If Ocean could live in a tree, then that meant Chavez wouldn’t find any gills on Ocean’s body should he feel inclined to look for them.

The ground opened at Chavez’s command, light flickering to life in wall recesses. He found himself anxious as Ocean descended the stairs behind him, shark-eyes devouring the twisting vine detail Chavez had painstakingly stenciled into each step with interest. The Dragonet’s mind drew a blank on the state of his sitting room until he saw the six shirts he’d tried on prior to Mollette ordering him into the one he now wore. Chavez crossed the room and scrambled to gather the clothing, expression rueful as he offered Ocean a seat on the couch with a wave of his free hand.

The Dragonslayer was trying to hide his laughter behind a poorly placed cough. He had such an easy laugh, Chavez had discovered while they’d talked at the bar. The Dragonet hadn’t known what to expect after such an abrupt Drink proposal. Someone gruff, graceless, and grabby was what one would think a Dragonslayer would be like considering the nature of work, but Ocean was charming. Being the Dragonslayer required a lot of traveling, so Ocean had regaled him with stories of countries Chavez had yet to visit, and even of new Realms Chavez knew he’d never see. Ocean had asked vaguely impersonal questions that still required a personal answer, and Chavez had marveled at Ocean’s conversation skills, thinking that he was no stranger to flying out. It was easy to see why Dragons vied for Ocean’s attention; that smile and husky laugh was something anyone would want bestowed on them — something anyone would want to be the cause of. He didn’t understand why Ocean’s last mate had grounded him.

“Dinna entertain much?” Ocean asked as he sat down.

“Na,” Chavez answered, quit all pretenses and dropped his armload behind the couch before joining him. Ocean’s laughter filled the room.

The slayer scooted close, his fingers no more than an inch away from Chavez’s hand resting on the earthen bench. Chavez was proud of that couch, he’d crafted it from topsoil, loosely compacted so that it would cradle one’s tail instead of flatten it. Ocean seemed more interested in Chavez than his handiwork. Shark-eyes squinted at the Dragonet’s face a moment; Ocean pursed his full lips. “Na?” he repeated, expression thoughtful. “For true? I canna give that any credence. Ye’ve got an allure abot ya, like a coin winkin’ in the sun. Is eye-fetching.”

Chavez hoped the light was bright enough to hide the infusion of gold to his cheeks; if he couldn’t banish his embarrassment over the compliment, he really would glow like the coin Ocean compared him to. “Wouldna carry on so,” Chavez mumbled, fingers flicking at Ocean’s hand.

“T’would be an insult if me dinna,” Ocean stated, eyes seeming to encompass all of the Dragonet at once. His hand captured Chavez’s and brought it to his lips, continuing to hold it as he eased closer, entwined hands settling on his thigh. “I must fess t’ya, ye’ve got me a wee bit out to sea.”

Chavez scoffed. “Na. There isna anythin’ bafflin’ abot I.”

“Is,” Ocean immediately refuted. “Ye’ve the look of Mountain Snow, boot y’live in the ground like Internal Land, an’ t’isna barren.” He looked around, large blue eyes drinking in his environment. “Ye’ve a bent for color.” Ocean’s tone implied he appreciated Chavez’s sense of décor and that he was pleased by it. “Am missing one, ya?”

“Soaking Sun,” Chavez offered. It was rare to be more than two Colonies, and even rarer to be able to balance the abilities of all, especially the ones that contradict. Being Mountain Snow, Chavez should have a home somewhere high made of rock or ice. Yet, being Internal Land he craved the sturdiness of the ground, and the dark. But not too dark — his Soaking Sun heritage wouldn’t allow it, nor would it allow Chavez to not have shiny and warm things in his home, or to call himself Chavette. He’d drilled finger-sized holes to the surface to allow sunlight to filter in during the day, unnoticeable to passers-by under the grass.

“Soaking Sun,” Ocean husked. “O’course. Your skin beams.” The Dragonslayer leaned toward the Dragonet, switched Chavez’s hand to his left so he could slip the right around Chavez’s slim shoulders, pull him close as his nose nuzzled the skin behind Chavez’s ear. His voice was a whisper into the canal, “An’ _Chavez_ ends softly, like sand slippin’ down a dune.”

“Ya—” Chavez gasped, giddy. His mind tumbled as Ocean’s plump lips trailed the length of his neck and back up, granting kisses to some areas, applying the tip of his tongue to others. This was new, Chavez quietly lamented. He had no point of reference for this: fingers gently stroking one cheek as lips ghosted over the other to rest on his own lips in an insistent caress Chavez didn’t think to not return. There were no kisses in his memory. If it had happened before, he was not aware of it. People didn’t kiss him; that wasn’t what they wanted and it wasn’t they took.

That cowardly little voice in the back of Chavez’s mind bravely murmured that maybe Chavez could want that from now on. Kisses were safe.

As his mouth met and mimicked Ocean’s, Chavez judged that he had to be doing it right. Ocean didn’t stop; indeed, he became more passionate, dropped both hands to Chavez’s waist and draped him across Ocean’s lap as if he weighed nothing. More importantly, Chavez felt nothing but the barest pressure when he was used to being squeezed and manipulated into whatever desired position. Ocean’s deft fingers made short work of the ties holding his shirt together; they were careful as they smoothed over Chavez’s skin and found a nipple to tease.

Ocean tasted like The Drink: alcohol, pear juice, and spicy herbs. He smelled like salt and fresh air, the clacking of the Brazen beads in his hair like a lullaby at the shore. There was nothing in Chavez’s genetic make-up that would give him a propensity toward water, but as Ocean ravished his mouth, as Ocean’s hands roamed his body, Chavez’s one want in the world was to _bathe_ in Ocean. Let Ocean wash over him. Let Ocean drag him out with the tide.

Chavez’s pants felt tight. For a moment he feared his Nomad form was melting into his Dragonet and he was about five seconds from crushing Ocean’s lap. But no, the tightness wasn’t at the juncture where back and buttocks met. His tailbone was not attempting to elongate, nor were his legs trying to bulk into heavy protective plates and shimmering white-gold scales. Instead, it was at the apex of Chavez’s thighs begging for more room; he was painfully, _astonishingly_ hard.

The realization had him breaking away from Ocean, breath stuttering in his chest.

“Qwa?” Ocean whispered, hands stilling on bare skin even though his shark eyes were glassy with lust, searching Chavez’s face for visible signs of distress.

_He is so nice_ , Chavez lamented. Ocean was nice and fancy and strong . . . and firm. Perfect Brazen, a warrior’s body was artwork of the flesh, aesthetically pleasing in every way. The Dragonet silently offered a prayer of gratitude. Chavez looked down at his hands. Somewhere along the way Ocean’s vest had been shrugged out of, but Chavez had been too impatient to bother with the shirt, had instead shoved the fabric up to Ocean’s chin. The Dragonet had one hand planted on a sculpted pectoral and the other still outlined the taut ripples of Ocean’s belly. He didn't want to dislike Ocean.

“Is nothin’,” Chavez answered breathily. “Just, mayhap we move to the bed?”

“So,” Ocean agreed and then smirked. “D’ya recall the state of that room?”

The Dragonet’s eyes narrowed and he mocked a pout. “Mayhap.” Chavez shook his head, lightly kissed Ocean again, and then stood. “A moment please.”

Ocean nodded affably. Chavez could feel his gaze as he crossed the room to the bed cavern and went through the curtain door. He frowned and contemplated the bed: it was a single and in no way would hold the both of them while Ocean . . . the Dragonet sighed mournfully.

Chavez had obviously had sex before — just not willingly. He remembered his first season up to a point. He’d been feeling lousy for a couple days — sensitive to touch and smell, his groin achingly heavy, his stomach cramped, his backside and tail an agony to move — when his brother, Brette, had found him sitting in the snow, praying the cold would dull the pain. He recalled changing his prayers abruptly, begging whoever would listen to forget his first request and grant the second; that Brette not terrorize Chavez as he always did. Brette DragonHill’s favorite pastime was reminding Chavez that he was inferior in every way. His brother had approached him, tongue flicking out briefly before his wide-slit nostrils dilated. Despite his best protest, Brette had grabbed Chavez by his neck with one large Dragon hand and hauled him up; the other hand grabbed his tail and lifted it while he buried his snout in Chavez’s hair for a moment. Then Brette shoved him back to the ground hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. His brother had stalked away and Chavez had thought someOne had heard him — and indeed someOne had, but it was probably Perfect Gaffe because Brette had told his friends.

Chavez hadn’t understood what was going on and Mollette hadn’t been around to explain or protect him. Mollette was big for a young male Dragon even then; he probably could have easily taken out Brette’s sniveling cronies as they lined up, nostrils flaring, wings open, tails patiently down. They’d started fighting; Chavez hadn’t understood why they would do that either, only that it wouldn’t be good for him, so he’d run anyway while cursing his lack of wings.

When he’d inevitably gotten caught by Brette’s best friend, Lancette DragonPeak, the older Dragon hadn’t said a word, just body-slammed him into the snow. Chavez had felt his arm snap but couldn’t dwell on that as Lance pushed his face into the ground, manhandled his tail up and over a shoulder to keep it there, despite Chavez’s fierce swinging of it to ward him off. Then Lance had gripped a hip with his free hand and shoved himself inside of Chavez with one burning thrust. Chavez had thought he’d been in agony before — he hadn’t known what he was talking about. By some act of providence, flight delirium had taken over and he didn’t remember anything after that.

But there it was, his sole memory of mating.

A flight season was a period of about six hundred days where a Dragon or Dragonet, through an unconscious biological compulsion, sought a mate to attempt to propagate the species. After finding that mate, upon their coupling, they were scent imprinted and synced. They would then have random flights anywhere from thirty to one-hundred-and-thirty times until the end of the season. A flight could last days, _weeks_ , depending on the severity of the impulse, even when it didn’t always lead to conception.

The Dragonet had made a study of history and according to what he’d read the original Wing Scale Colonists didn’t have flights; that their descendents did was purely a result of being abducted by the failing Dragon race and forced to become their surrogate egg layers. When Chavez had been hoping to never see Lance again, Molly had been the one to deliver the bad news as he patched Chavez up six days later: that Lancette DragonPeak and he were bound until the season ended. That even if he ran away, when either he or Lance was due for a flight they’d seek each other because that was how scent imprinting worked. They would have no desire to be with anyone else nor would anyone else desire to be with them. It was just another annoying Dragon mating quirk, one that ensured that whatever clutch was conceived unquestionably came from one source and could be given a proper date for when it happened.

It was uncommon for _ovian_ to conceive outside of a season, but it had been known to happen, and thus every Dragon not wanting draklings drank some version of The Drink regularly. Chavez had drank what had to have been _barrels_ during his season with Lancette. Molly had told him that he was much too young to for eggs to form, but Chavez wasn’t taking any chances. Lance had wanted to mate with him even outside of a flight and the Dragonet lived in fear that he would succeed. For the six hundred days of his season with Lancette when the Dragon would try to catch him, Chavez would run behind Molly’s bulk, his cousin’s intimidating form more than enough to cow Lance. Lance had gotten it into his head that he and Chavez belonged together, and the Dragonet disagreed, but could hardly fight Lance or Brette’s assessment of the situation. Brette was on Lance’s side. So after that season, Chavez had fled Mountain Snow to go to family in Soaking Sun. Lance had found him with Brette’s help, but fortunately Chavez wasn’t in season or near it, and he’d managed to get away again with Mollette’s assistance.

They’d left Nomadia for Onarch, sailing to Northern Treya, where Molly had met Teyum and Chavez had been accosted in his not quite Dragon-proof home. Then the three of them had lived together and that had culminated in that whole odd bit with Teyum as his mate. After that, they’d crossed country to Gisane and happily lived in separate dwellings, calling on each other often. Two seasons had passed since then, and now approaching the third he’d met Ocean DragonSlayer — someone he could like that he didn’t want bad memories of.

Chavez concentrated on the bed and the floor, willing the ground to obey him and conform to the design in his mind. Tough Gisane soil slowly compiled, grinding and contracting to double the size of his bed, the compacting mimicked the way he’d created the couch only a little softer. As he worked his thoughts continued to roam. Ocean was kind, Chavez allowed. Outside of this whole mating business, he was someone Chavez wouldn’t mind spending time with. So. Chavez had a genetic malady that would afflict him and so too did Ocean. They may as well assuage it together. And, as a friend, even if he didn’t like it, Chavez supposed he could let Ocean fuck him outside of flights. He liked Ocean enough to ignore that one blight on an otherwise perfect relationship. At the very least, being involved with the Dragonslayer would keep the creeps away. Lastly, if Lance tracked him again, then Ocean would be more than capable of discouraging further interest.

That finalized it. Chavez shimmied out of his pants and tossed them into his wardrobe. He bent over and pressed two fingers into his ass, feeling for the glands that secreted oil — quite possibly one of the most logical adaptations of an oviparous species that made mating a requirement, Chavez reflected. Naked and slick, he sat down on his remodeled bed, hoping it didn’t smell too much like fresh churned dirt, and called for Ocean to enter.

The slayer walked through the curtain, appreciative smile on his face when he saw Chavez. He had removed his clothes too, and Chavez’s mouth felt a little over-wet at the sight. Yes, with a body like that he could definitely do this and forgive Ocean afterward. Chavez crawled to the center of the bed and planted himself on elbows and knees, thighs spread, ass high, head down and held by his hands as he waited for Ocean to mount him.

And waited.

After a minute Chavez lifted his head, brushed his hair aside and looked askance at Ocean. The slayer stood three feet from the bed, naked and erect; both hands covering his mouth, shoulders shaking, shark eyes tearing up he was chuckling so hard and trying to contain it.

Chavez blinked in confusion.

Another moment passed before Ocean mastered himself. “Chavez,” he laughed, “you havena done this before have ya.” It was not a question.

Chavez knew he was glowing, could feel the heat in his face; knew Ocean could see the gold radiating. He allowed his bottom to topple to the side so he could curl into a ball and hide his face. He was a second away from asking the ground to swallow him and never let him walk on the surface again. Ocean was instantly on the bed then, fingers carding through his hair, the other hand gently rubbing his back.

“Chavez, now, dinna be shamed so.” Ocean spooned against him, pulling him close. “I dinna intend any nastiness, y’know. Is endearing, m’swear.” He placed a kiss to Chavez’s shoulder. “What fools you been lettin’ hold ya, huh?” he tenderly whispered.

“I dinna,” Chavez mumbled. His mortification slowly abating, Chavez turned to face Ocean, golden gaze on Ocean’s pectoral, unable to look him in the eye. “I dinna,” he repeated miserably.

Ocean’s voice was still soft. “I canna be the first,” he said.

“Na,” Chavez agreed but then amended, “mayhap.” Because he hadn’t _let_ anyone do anything. They just did. In a way, Ocean was the first.

“Ya arna sayin’ somethin’ and me canna figure it right no’.”

Looking down, Chavez could understand why. He took a deep breath. “Ocean. D’ya still want to?”

Ocean dropped his forehead into Chavez’s hair and nodded. “Oh, aye,” he moaned. “Dinna doubt that.”

“Then why’re we chattin’?”

Ocean shrugged, lifted Chavez’s head and kissed him. It wasn’t long before Ocean had his desire worked back up, his mind giving up reason when Ocean’s hand settled between his legs and firmly stroked his dick. He was back at that place, hearing that voice, the one that sweetly begged: drown me Ocean. His tongue engaged Ocean's; his hands buried themselves in seaweed and braids, his legs parted, and his hips thrust up. Ocean broke the kiss, ignored Chavez’s protest when he removed his hand, and then settled in to the cradle of his thighs. Fingers probed between his cheeks; Chavez could have told Ocean he’d already done that, but his throat was locked.

Ocean licked his lips, blond-blue eyebrow rising at Chavez, shark eyes radiating pleasure as Chavez unconsciously lifted his knees to his chest. The slayer hooked Chavez’s legs over his shoulders, lined himself up —

For a second, as Chavez felt that blunt tip against his hole, panic took over. It was Lance over him, he was going to call the whole thing off, and run screaming to Molly . . .

— And as he eased inside, a whispery moan of appreciation escaped Ocean. The Dragon pulled back, pushed in deeper, slowly repeating it over and over until he was buried to the hilt. Chavez could feel him — there was no _not_ feeling something of that size stretching him, creating a weird friction as Chavez’s ass gripped it, Ocean’s cock nudging places inside him that _liked_ the attention again and again. It was slightly uncomfortable (as it had been almost fifteen years since Chavez had last had a mate), but it didn’t hurt. Ocean’s arms tightened on Chavez’s thighs to steady him as his hips sped up. The clacking of Ocean’s beads was counter rhythm to the slap of flesh against flesh, drowning out Chavez’s gasps of delight.

The Dragonet desperately reached for his dick as Ocean increased the pace again, damn near folding him in half. His body fully appreciated the angle of the new position. Just a few thrusts had every muscle below Chavez’s nipples clenching, one more frantic tug to his dick was all it took for release. Ocean grunted, and through slit eyes Chavez could see that plump mouth caught between Ocean’s teeth, he could feel those hips flush against his ass grinding little circles before he felt the flutter of Ocean’s warm semen filling him.

At least he wasn’t holding Ocean’s cock hostage, Chavez mused as they lay still, breathing heavily. With the hand that wasn’t trapped betwixt their bodies, he absently played with Ocean’s braids, feeling slightly foolish for being so scared, though he knew that fear wasn’t unfounded. Maybe if he’d mated with someone like Ocean first, then he wouldn’t have spent so many seasons alone.

Ocean stirred, rolled himself to the side and hooked a possessive leg with one of Chavez’s once he’d straightened them out. Ocean’s huge blue eyes, hazy with satisfaction, were on Chavez’s face. The Dragonet was again trapped by them, unable to turn away.

“I need a nap,” the slayer rasped, a finger lazily dragging down Chavez’s cheek. “But when I wake, I wanna do that again.”

The Dragonet bit his lip as he grinned and then agreed, “So.” Ocean sighed pleasantly, eyes drifting shut, the hand at his face moving to Chavez’s chest. Chavez faced the ceiling then, smiling wide. He was glad he wouldn’t have to forgive Ocean for this.

\- ♣ -


	3. Three

Chavez woke when the sunbeams filtering into his room shone across his eyelids. 

For a moment he was confused. There was no reason why sunshine would be blinding his eyes. He'd specifically placed those holes so that it wouldn't hit him in the face in the morning. He opened his eyes and realized what the problem was. His bed was larger and he was on the new side. That was curious, Chavez thought. Why would he enlarge his bed? He hated big beds. Chavez stretched and immediately regretted it. Twinges of pain exuded from his tail and down his legs. His thighs were especially sore. His ass felt raw, but it wasn’t an entirely painful kind of raw — it was one of remembered sensation. _Good_ remembered sensation. And that's when Chavez recalled that he had brought home the Dragonslayer. The Dragonslayer had come into his house. The Dragonslayer had come in to him.

Chavez remembered that he had liked it.

But where was Ocean now?

True, the Dragonet didn't know him very well, but Ocean hadn’t struck him as the type to fly and then float off. Ocean was a nice guy, would never deliberately hurt somebody, or at least Chavez had gotten that impression. He didn't want to believe the Dragonslayer was that kind of person, but Ocean was gone. Ordinarily, nobody would be able to leave the cavern without Chavez's permission, but Chavez hadn't paid any attention to security last night. He’d left the secret opening to his home unlocked and visible and Ocean had left through it.

 _But_.

When Ocean had woken up from his nap he’d thoroughly fucked Chavez until they’d collapsed. It had been as though Ocean couldn't get enough. Chavez had felt like he was trying to save a fish from drowning. Or maybe that was just part of Ocean's charm. He said all the right things, and he did all the right things and he was gentle in and out of bed, but he was also fickle. What if that was why the Dragonslayer’s last mate had grounded him? Maybe Ocean had been too smooth and they’d finally gotten tired of it?

 _Noy jitat._ _That_ was just wishful thinking — Ocean’s last mate was obviously a few teeth short of a smile. One did not give up a nice guy over one fault that was annoying but not worth breaking it off.

The real question was why would a Dragon like Ocean want a Dragonet like Chavez anyway? Chavez was weak, he wasn't a very good conversationalist, besides being a mutt — even amongst Nomads — he was hardly interesting, and he wasn't fancy. He definitely wasn't any good in bed; Ocean had had to teach him so many things last night, things somebody his age should have already known. Perhaps Ocean had simply decided that he wasn't worth it after all. Chavez couldn’t really blame him. If he were somebody like Ocean, he definitely wouldn’t want someone like him either. The Dragonet had just gotten his nose up his tail because Ocean had decided on him and not those other two; but for all Chavez knew Ocean had chosen him because he was the lesser of two evils and not due to actual desire. Gingerly, Chavez threw his legs over the side of his much too large bed and stiffly made his way to the indoor circuitry room. He couldn’t lie in bed all day; he would soak in the tub for an hour or two, and then he would clean up his home before going to the market. Though the eve past he hadn’t made any progress on his jewelry, that didn’t mean he didn’t have other business to attend to in town. Thank everyOne that Ocean hadn’t asked for anything to eat because Chavez’s larder was empty.

The mud was warm and soothing to his abused muscles. Chavez unhappily dragged his fingers through it. Of course this would happen — the moment he got used to the idea of mating and actually doing it, the one person he didn't object to doing it with changed _his_ mind. Perfect Gaffe had to be congratulating himself on a complete victory. A Perfect One’s practical joke or not, or maybe an error on Ocean's behalf, or if even just a foolish mistake that Chavez had made — Gaffe would never be able to top tricking Chavez into liking the Dragonslayer. Chavez leaned back and let his head loll against the rim in defeat.

A ripple of awareness skimmed the fringes of his mind. Someone probed the areas of the cavern that he had influenced with his magic, finding him and then mentally tapping. It was the equivalent of a knock, and it had the essence of Teyum in it. Chavez didn't know whether to be touched by that or not. On the one hand, this was all their fault, but on the other hand the sun had barely been up an hour and his family had already turned up to check on him. It was a time in the morning that no normal paramour would have crept out yet; Mollette would have been able to assess the damage and decide if said guest needed to be kicked around for negligence. Chavez sent a mental command to the door and allowed Mollette and Teyum to descend into his home.

A few moments later, they entered the circuit room, and Chavez was subjected to concerned scrutiny of his person before he was allowed to relax in his bath again. Teyum commandeered a seat on the toilet lid and Mollette slid to the floor beside the tub. Her brown eyes were flooded with relief that she hadn’t sent her cousin to his death no doubt, Chavez groused.

"Well, y’arna beggin’ a healer," Mollette stated. "Couldna been too much grief, ya?"

"So," Chavez answered but he wouldn't meet Mollette's eyes. It hadn’t been bad at all — it had been good, _really_ good. While his tail probably wouldn’t forgive him if he repeated last night’s antics too soon, it still hurt to know he would never have the chance again, and that was all Mollette's fault. Well, maybe not _all_ but the vast majority could definitely be put on her — he’d been happy with his ignorance.

"If it wasna no tragedy then why d’you look like Lancette just found you?" asked Teyum. He shifted on the toilet and earnestly looked down on Chavez. Well, if nothing else Teyum would take responsibility even if Molly didn’t; the Dragonet consoled himself with that thought.

He stirred the mud with a finger absently. "Me dinna think I fetch his eye," Chavez murmured.

"Blasphemy!" Molly exclaimed. "A body couldna not see how he eye-humped ya in the bar — he was completely flown."

"Mayhap he werena that flown," Chavez sulked.

"That aside,” Teyum interrupted before the cousins could get into a shouting match of semantics. “You arna physically distressed, the Slayer isna physically present, so then he couldna — I mean, you and he didna —"

"We did.” Chavez scowled darkly at the carefully molded copper spigot. “Is just . . . I dinna think he liked it."

Molly squinted at Chavez. "You aside, how does a man not like sex?" She shook her head in amazement. "There isna no way. He say something to that effect this morn?"

"No. He’d already gone by the time sleep left I."

"Doesna mean anythin’, then" Teyum said confidently. "Molly’d floated without a word after our first eve together, too. And I _know_ she wasna unsatisfied."

"Prideful," Molly teased and playfully kicked Teyum's foot. "T’was the eve y’got dug up, remember?"

No, actually Chavez didn't remember, he could only recall waking up in absolute pain and hearing someone softly weeping apologies beside him in between his ragged screams for Molly to help him. Chavez closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing his mind clear. He had good memories now, he didn't want to dwell on the bad ones. "Doesna change that he gone."

Mollette sucked her teeth. "Just means ya gonna gotta go chat at him. He give the location of his bed?"

"Down the road," Chavez answered.

"Settles it then" Teyum said. "If he didna like you, then he wouldna told you where he lived."

"That doesna make sight from eyes."

"Makes plenty sense — Stop being stubborn!" Teyum scowled. "Even just glidin’ the breeze at speak, if he wasna serious then he woulda been vague abot where his home were."

Chavez looked to Mollette for confirmation. She gave him a little nod, and a quirk of her mouth to let him know that she could find no fault in Teyum's logic. "Then," Mollette began, "all y’need to do now is get dressed an’ seek him."

"Will find you something to wear," Teyum offered, and then rose from the toilet lid to head off into Chavez's bedroom.

Mollette inched up the wall and grabbed a towel from its rack. She spread it between her arms and motioned for Chavez to stand up. "C’mon, no time like the present. The sooner we know the malady, the sooner we can heal it."

Chavez exhaled noisily, and stood up. He should've known better, he should always know better than to tell Mollette or Teyum anything about his love life. All they would do was force him to confront whatever was wrong and that just wasn't Chavez's way of doing things. The Dragonet wasn’t any good at impromptu, he liked plans. He liked knowing his script and just going up to Ocean to ask . . . To ask _what_?

“Dinna frown so,” Mollette commanded as she wrapped the towel around him. “Ya’re forgettin’ somethin’ important, here.”

“Qwa?”

“Ocean DragonSlayer didna harm ya, and y’need him.” Mollette turned Chavez to face her. “Me canna always be there and ya arna gonna find anyone more suited to defend ya if Lance discovers us again. Is fortune that his own seasons are likely hinderin’ his search, but Onarch is only so big and we’re runnin’ out o’coin fast, Cousin.”

“So ken,” Chavez mumbled, looking down at his freshly cleaned toes. He did know, he’d thought the same thing a few hours ago, and he didn’t have time for an extended pity party just because he’d woken up alone. Mollette and Teyum were right. He would seek the Dragonslayer out, allow Ocean to explain what he would, and if it was like his family said — just a misunderstanding — then great. If it wasn’t, however, Chavez would have to prepare himself to grovel for the Slayer to take him as a mate for the upcoming season.

♣

The Dragonslayer had given apt directions to his house. It was about a mile and a half from Chavez’s burrow, where a lone tree and an open field juxtaposed the road. In the distance, Chavez could see two Dragons in their transformed state grappling amongst the overgrown grass. It wasn't difficult to discern which Dragon was Ocean, the Slayer was a hatchling compared to the other one. He stood a little less than seven feet tall, slim and agile, his blue scales with their dragonfly wing overlay winking in the early morning light. Chavez judged the other Dragon to be around eight feet. An impressive symphony of muscles rippled beneath green scales shimmering with a yellow, white, and lavender dusting. All of his movements were deliberate and fluid; even Chavez's untrained eye could see that the green Dragon was meticulously instructing the young Dragonslayer. As Chavez approached, the larger Dragon pinned Ocean and mocked ripping out his throat. Defeated, Ocean swatted away his sparring partner and together they shrank back into their Nomad bodies and snatched up Dragonshed cloaks from the ground to cover their nakedness.

Closer now, Chavez could pick out the clover amongst the older Dragon’s hair bobbing in the wind and deduced that he must be the legendary Clover DragonField, the most celebrated Slayer in the history of Dragonslaying. Clover DragonSlayer had excelled so much at his calling that he was brought back from the Skies of the Dead and given the name and vocation of DragonTrainer. If the stories were true, then he was also Ocean’s uncle. It was Clover to slap the Dragonslayer on the back and point to Chavez standing on the side of the road. Ocean immediately headed for him.

“Ahoy,” Chavez began shyly when Ocean was in range. He ducked his head as that cowardly voice sniveled again that Chavez was making a huge mistake — should have left well enough alone. They wouldn’t be doing themselves any favors if they alienated the Dragonslayer.

But Ocean greeted with that smile, captivating eyes sparkling, mesmerizing voice whispering, “Hoy. Why come y’here?”

It wasn’t an accusation, but by Gaffe, did Chavez feel like a stalker, Mollette’s approval or not. Showing up so soon probably made him look needy or unhinged and the Slayer was just too polite to say so. This conversation likely could have waited one more day, but too late now. The Dragonet squirmed uncomfortably. “M-Me, me wanted to know iffin I displeased ya last night. Iffin me wasna up to par then . . .”

Ocean frantically waved his hand in a cutting motion. “Na! Wasna nothin’. I —” Ocean blinked owlishly. “Why wouldya reason that?”

“Y’left, and there wasna . . . there werena no — Ocean. Y’dinna give any notice.” Chavez loudly expelled his breath in a release of anxiety and frustration. The Slayer looked just as distraught as he’d been feeling the last hour.

Ocean wiped sweat from his temple, blond-and-blue-streaked brows drawn, eyes on the ground, bottom lip pinned between his teeth as he absorbed what Chavez said. “Am beggin’ y’pardon then. When I arna in flight, Clova sets me curfew. I couldna tell ya afore y’slept and I dinna want to wake ya — y’were exhausted.” He lifted his head, earnest eyes meeting Chavez’s. “Swear I was gonna tag ya later.”

Chavez had no idea which Perfect One Ocean was swearing by, but that he wasn’t struck low for making the claim, it was irrefutably the truth. Ocean’d had to leave that morning because the Dragontrainer ordered it so, but he’d had every intention of meeting up with Chavez again sometime before the morrow. A little grin was playing about Chavez’s lips, his relief almost palpable though he had no idea why that confession pleased him to the degree it did.

“Eve passed was all right by ya, then?” He made an all-encompassing gesture at Chavez’s body.

“I be fine.”

“Good.” Ocean fidgeted, bare feet toeing the ground. “Then. As ya be here an’ all, was wonderin’ if — well hopin’ that ya arna agreed to anyone the next season.”

“For true?” the Dragonet queried with eyebrows up. It had been a decent walk to this clearing; Chavez had come fully prepared to state his case and beg Ocean to consider him when his flights started again and now he wouldn’t even have to.

“Aye.” Ocean scratched at the back of his neck, his face a study of embarrassment and cautious optimism. “I mean, we arna gonna make eggs or anythin’ obviously, and me season doesna start for a week or therabots, boot . . . I just arna ready to leave ya be yet. So?”

“So,” Chavez affirmed without hesitation.

An elated smile crossed Ocean’s mouth. He took the remaining steps between them and planted his lips on Chavez’s.

“He’s fancy, Ocean, boot y’can explore the inside of his tail later, ya?” Clover yelled from across the field, arms akimbo, the clover popping free of his braids fluttering in the breeze as Ocean took a hasty back step and contritely faced his uncle. “This isna the time for socializin’,” Clover pointed out. 

The Dragonslayer turned back to Chavez, apology on his lips, but Chavez forestalled him with fingers brushing along the naked flesh at Ocean’s shoulder where his cape didn’t cover. “G’won,” he said. “I dinna mean to cause ya difficulty. Will look for ya this eve.”

“All right,” Ocean replied with a nod and that easy smile Chavez was coming to look forward to seeing.

The Dragonet headed toward the town with a skip in his step. He would hit the market to replenish his larder before going home. Then he would cook something nice for Ocean because the Slayer would likely be hungry after training all day. Chavez had no idea if Ocean ascribed to Fruitful Tree vegetarianism, but he would err on the side of caution just in case and buy a bunch of vegetables. Everything was finally going right; Chavez wouldn’t be the one to screw it up. If the day passed without issue then maybe, just maybe, Gaffe would think the Dragonet boring and finally turn his face from Chavez DragonetHill.

\- ♣ -


	4. Four

Why would Gaffe want to leave Chavez alone? The Dragonet obviously made it too easy for the Perfect One of Imperfection to ruin his life.

He'd gotten a very good look at the Dragons last night in the bar. One had the body of a Rainbow Streams Nomad; he was decked out in jewels, his Dragon shed clothing a magnificent purple. The other Dragon was from Whispering Sea; the gills under his chin swelled with each breath and the pearls in his ears caught the light, sea green scales mimicking their gentle glow. And there they were in the market he’d been at barely thirty minutes, not thirty paces from him. Of course they’d seen him, shared a look — one Chavez knew well, he could practically see the evil radiating between their communicating eyes — and together they stalked toward him.

The Dragonet weighed his options. It wasn’t a very good showing this early in the morning for market goers and the majority of them were Human. Humans were probably the only race that Chavez could successfully defend himself against — this was part of his reasoning for turning up so early. Also, he hated crowds and bullies. Usually, anyone up to no good wouldn’t be fresh-faced so soon after a night of supposed debauchery. This logic obviously did not extend toward Ocean’s rejects. Chavez couldn’t say if they were local or not; he didn’t go out that often. If Molly or Teyum had recognized either of them then they would have mentioned it yesterday with a warning to steer clear, or waved the two off as harmless. Chavez’s gaze darted around the souk square in search of . . .

A frustrated whimper escaped him. He’d been looking for an Onuyan street justice, as if a Human could do anything against a Dragon. That was why there was a Dragonslayer in the first place. Chavez shifted his grocery bag from one hand to the next, distraught to know that his methods had just screwed him over. His family was likely still at his burrow, awaiting his return with news of his love-life. There was only one other Dragon around that Chavez could see, a woman dragging her yawning drakling by the hand from stall to stall — not a likely Dragonet sympathizer, and even if she was inclined to help him, getting her child out of the danger zone first was the proper thing to do. A Dragon could cause a lot of damage once it put its mind to the idea. There was a brief thought to challenge them transformed, but Chavez’s Dragonet body, while sturdier and taller than his Nomad, was still no match.

Below his feet was packed earth and cobblestone, and even if he could coax such well-tread ground into obeying him it would definitely take too long. Faced with no other options forthcoming, he stood there and let the two unsavory suitors overtake him. As long as he stayed out in the open, here in the souk or on the main road leading into town, then his chances of surviving long enough for a rescue were pretty good. Chavez clutched his grocery bag to his chest and planted his feet. Dragon elitists were all the same; first would come the insults and then the shoving.

Before him the Rainbow Streams Dragon paused, perched a jeweled hand on a slim hip and looked down his nose at Chavez. Up close with no other interfering scents Chavez couldn’t help but blanch as he realized this Dragon was a female. _Noy voika_ , Gaffe had it out for Chavez today. Females were vicious.

“Look ‘ere,” Streams hissed. “’Im what think ‘e tail so shine it sparkle the Dragonslayer more than us.”

“Me dinna think that,” Chavez protested.

The Whispering Sea Dragon snorted so hard his gills flared wide. “Ye dinna think that _now_. So early in the morn to be out . . . he ground ye for wastin’ his time, ya?”

“Course ‘e did,” Streams said and smacked the bag from Chavez’s hands. “No’ me gonna _grind_ ye so ye dinna think ye’self above yer place again.” Streams and Gills flanked him, Dragon strength at their advantage as they each gripped an elbow and effortlessly marched him out of the souk.

Chavez hadn’t thought that would happen, that the decision of battleground could so easily be taken from him. He couldn’t even scream because who would come and be any effect? If the wrong person showed up they could die or worse. Feeling it more prudent to conserve his strength, he let Streams and Gills drag him through the town and out the gates and around a bend from the main road. It was close enough that someone would undoubtedly stumble across his body _today_ if the beating went how Chavez knew beatings to go for him.

The little voice in the back of Chavez’s mind was undoubtedly an over-cautious coward at the best of times, but its survival instincts couldn’t be ignored as he was tossed to the ground and feet and fists followed.

_Cover your face, protect your head, they have to be able to identify your remains!_

_Curl up tighter, smaller target. Squirm! Make it harder._

_Kidney shot! Kidney shot!_ Noy Jitat! _That_ hurt _now let it go._

 _Roll! You_ need _your spine, don’t let them get another hit there._

_Perfect. Are you trying to die? It’s been too long since your last ass-kicking._

Then there was a snarl that had nothing to do with the roaring in his ears and the blows were gone.

Slowly, Chavez peeked from the cover of his aching arms, not quite daring to hope Streams and Gills had just gotten bored with him. Instead, a white Dragon stood between Chavez and the aggressors, body coiled and ready to pounce, teeth bared, growl emitting from deep within his throat as his head whipped back and forth sizing up his competition. 

_Molly_.

Chavez breathed a sigh of relief, and just as quickly gasped in fear as the two Nomads morphed into their Dragon forms. Mollette could take on two males easily; Chavez had seen it often enough before they’d left Mountain Snow. But a female in the mix drastically changed the fight’s parameters. Female Dragons were larger and stronger by default, and while Molly was uncommonly large for a male, he wouldn’t be able to match her. It either didn’t occur to his cousin, or Molly simply didn’t care, for he launched himself at Streams, front claws sinking into her shoulders, tail swinging in a wide arc to clip unsuspecting Gills across the snout and knock him to the ground.

Mollette managed to get one bite to Streams, then two, when she turned her neck the wrong way, before she maneuvered her hind legs between their bodies and expelled him. Then Gills was up again, a trail of blood oozing from his nostrils, diving at Molly before he could recover his balance. Molly took a hard hit to the gut as Gills speared him and went down.

Chavez wasn’t worried about that; Mollette was a champion grappler. As long as the fight remained magic-free and just the two of them, then he would win. The real problem was Streams. Chavez’s eyes jumped from the two males back to the purple Dragon. She was checking the gouges in her arms, lips pulled back in disgust, but in no hurry to rejoin the fight. Even as Chavez watched, her attention shifted from herself to meet Chavez’s eyes. The Dragonet would have sworn that she’d smirked at him before moving to close the distance between them. Slow, stalking, a true predator who knew she had all the time in the Realm necessary to rip his throat out.

 _Of course_ , Chavez groused. Streams wasn’t the type to take on creatures who could actually fight back. Chavez bet she drowned kittens for fun. What to do? Call for Mollette? No. Mollette was busy and didn’t need the distraction; indeed, would finish faster if the Dragonet let him concentrate. Where was Teyum? Admittedly, Mollette’s mate was not a fighter and barely eight feet, but he probably could have kept Gills occupied long enough for Molly to stop Streams from killing him. And then eleven feet of adult female Dragon was towering over his sprawled form, and there was no more time for thought. She raised her paw. Chavez watched it and hoped the end would be relatively painless -- he was really tired of being in pain.

From the corner of his eye the Dragonet caught a smear of blue, and then teeth were sinking in to Streams’ raised arm. She screamed. Blood sprayed onto Chavez’s hair.

Wide-eyed, Chavez stared as the Dragonslayer scaled a Dragon almost twice his size, scrawled around her back, locked both arms around her neck and squeezed. Streams flailed wildly, claws scrabbling for enough purchase to unlock the Slayer’s hold to little avail. Lack of Breath had Streams fading fast.

“Bigger they are, the more air they need,” a voice said into Chavez’s ear. Startled, he looked right to see Clover DragonTrainer hunched down beside him watching with avid interest as Ocean took down Streams. Clover nodded critically. “Well, canna fault his technique. T’were the smart way to go abot it.” Clover slanted a look Chavez’s way, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Me got an itch ye’re gonna attract lots o’ trouble. Good to know he willna lose his head over ye.”

After shrugging into her trousers, Mollette sat down on Chavez’s opposite side. “Anythin’ broke?” his cousin asked. “Teyum went for Healer Tomato.”

“Nah, nothin’,” Chavez answered, as he briefly looked over his cousin for any serious injury. Ordinarily, no one would be able to guess a person’s Nomad form from its Dragon self — as the two had little to do with each other — but Mollette looked like Mollette. He was a well-muscled behemoth as a Dragon and a stocky, broad-shouldered girl with more pectoral muscle than breasts as a Nomad, who’d fortunately only sustained a few bruises from her battle.

“Good fight,” Clover said to Mollette. She paused in buttoning her shirt and inclined her head in acknowledgment of the compliment.

“How come ya here?” Chavez asked no one in particular.

“Was waitin’ for ya at the home and got hungry.” Molly redid another button before stopping again to frown at Chavez. “Y’know there’s nothin’ in the pantry?”

Chavez ducked his head sheepishly. “Me always eat at yar place.”

“Isna no excuse!”

Clover laughed.

“Then,” Molly continued, “thinkin’ ya an’ Ocean were still at the chat, Teyum says him too hungry to wait, an’ we should head to market to restock yar home. We come up the road and see ya harassed by them —” Molly jerked her thumb in the direction of the knocked-out Gills. “I come to defend ya and send Teyum for the Slayer — He’s smaller than me thought he’d be.”

Clover shrugged. “DragonFields arna known for bulk.”

“Ya got here fast,” Chavez noted.

“The Sayer chanced to be shopping. Sent a message that mayhap could get ugly. Met yer Teyum along the way,” Clover explained.

 _The Dragonsayer_ , the Dragonet thought in awe. _No wonder none used magic_. He glanced in Ocean’s direction to see him standing in his Dragonshed cloak beside a blond Nomad who looked to be in his mid-thirties. _If he’s showing age, he has to be ancient_ , Chavez mused. Ocean finished the conversation and headed toward the little group.

“Kinkade’s going to bind them for a few years,” Ocean reported to Clover, and then he sunk down on his knees before Chavez. Huge blue eyes roved over him noting the little cuts and the big bruises starting to form, the blood dripping from his hair. Ocean reached forward and carefully pushed a lock behind his ear. “Ya wanna go get a kick in?” he offered.

“Me luck, I break me foot,” Chavez scoffed, but he was smiling. Ocean looked so earnest as he advocated violence. “Much obliged.”

Clover abruptly stood, stretched and then slapped his nephew on the back. “Headin’ home and me dinna want see yer bug-eyes ‘til the morrow.”

“For true?” Ocean’s attention switched to Clover in complete disbelief. Chavez considered that maybe Ocean didn’t get many days off outside of a flight.

“Well, wasna ashamed of ye this morn.” The Dragontrainer sighed as though the words were murdering him as he said it. He scratched behind his ear uncomfortably, a debate about whether to say more visible on his grimacing face, but in the end he stalked off toward the road without a backward glance. A moment later the Sayer was following him.

Ocean hoisted Chavez up into his arms. “C’mon then. On to the healer.”

As the trio headed into town, Chavez rested his head on Ocean’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and listened to the cadence of Ocean’s heart beat. He didn’t know what the future held, but even if Gaffe never left him alone, he was so glad he’d met this Dragon at the bar.

\- ♣ -

So, this is not the end for Ocean and Chavez; it's just i have more stories in my head (and notebooks) than i will ever have attention span to write (type) them all. Thanks for reading. 


End file.
